Cómo cocinar un lobo
Magalí Etchebarne
POETRY | 2023 | 80 pages
An afternoon dies and every question appears, as do new certainties. It’s like learning a new language—the language of poetry. Now, Magalí Etchebarne must dismantle the house. Make her way through it again, on last time, once more, empty. It’s impossible to refrain from invoking Anne Carson: “If prose is a house, poetry is a man on fire running quite fast through it.” But like it or not, the fire is controlled. It’s controlled by someone who commands their own desperation.
One year, she goes from being a daughter to being a poet, and the verses become hits to memories of the end, and also the beginning. It’s about crossing over “a cliff on a rope,” sniffing at each corner like a hunting dog, knowing that even so smells can get lost, voices may only remain in cassettes, and that a voice sounds different than it does in our own memories. Building a lexicon of gestures, moles, invented words, insignificant things, bird feed. That’s how a life is cooked, that’s how legacies and silences are passed on: a slow burn, cooking the wolf of ouf ghosts.
—Marina Mariasch
RIGHTS: spanish TENEMOS LAS MÁQUINAS
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